Psyche
by kiboeme
Summary: Where is he? Who is he? And what is going on? Playing around with style, and this is what came up! Somewhat mature concepts are involved and no particular plot exists. K.


He woke.  
He woke in the dark.  
In a cave of a room or a hole in the ground he as not sure. All he knew was that it was dark, very dark, and he had no idea how he had gotten there.  
He couldn't remember anything g.  
He closed his eyes.

He woke up a second time.  
It was still dark but his other senses seemed to be working now.  
He knew that he was lying down on his back. His limbs were arranged around his body completely straight with his arms by his sides with palms facing in and his toes sticking up, straight up.  
He was neither warm, nor cold, but somewhere in between.  
He was breathing.  
He was wearing clones.  
But the belts and straps and weapons and tools he knew would be there were all gone.  
He was much too tired to care.  
He closed his eyes a second time.

When he woke up the third time, his memories and faculties had been somewhat restored.  
He could smell the the dry air around him, dusty and stale.  
He could open his eyes but not see anything in the darkness, just as he could make his muscles strain and quiver to wiggle his fingers and toes but never be able to move.  
He could not panic.  
He could not feel emotion.  
He fought for memories to come back, but it only appeared in flashes and hazy, blurry, soundless blobs of color and light.  
Remembering tired him.  
He fell asleep.

_My name is Link_ was the message in his mind when he awoke.  
It wasn't a term that he could remember ever hearing, but it sounded right when he said it inside of his mind.  
Broiled still not remember how he had gotten here, wherever here happened to be.  
He still could not move.  
But his eyes could.  
He moved them around to the left and right, looking off his prison another time. He did not see much, for the cell was still darker than a cloudy, moonless night, but this time he noticed something new.  
Th tiniest glimmer of light in the corner of his eyes.  
A slim day of hope far off to his right.  
Unreadable.  
Because he could not move.  
He closed his eyes and felt emotion since the first time he had work up.  
He felt dismay.

He had a mission.  
He, Link, had something that desperately needed to do. Something incredibly important, something that made his heart speed up and his breath come faster when he thought of not getting done.  
But he did not know what his goal was.  
He dug deep into his psyche to find what it was he needed to do but hit the same mental wall as he had before, as if his brain were guarding his fragile would from something gruesome and terrible captured in his memories.  
He yelled out.  
There was sound, something that he had not expected.  
He was overwhelmed.  
He was asleep again.

Link woke up again.  
He had started to call himself Link, now. He still remembered nothing at all, but the name sounded proper and it had meaning to him. He could hear the echoes in his ears of a thousand lips shaping his name and saying it with gratitude, affection, anger, regret, indifference, loathing.  
Link could remember his name, and he was glad.

He could move.  
He could feel the wriggling if his finger and toes and, when he made the massive effort to lift his hand, he could see it come into his field of vision and quiver and twitch there above his face.  
For the first time, he could hear himself breathe.  
Spurred on by his successes, he tried to move his legs. A flaming pain shot up from his toes to his waist, pinching and burning and making him gasp and whimper.  
He knew he had felt pain like this before.  
He couldn't remember when of what had caused the agony, but he knew that he had experienced this in the past and pushed through it.  
Link drew a deep breath and moved his legs again. He bit his cheek against the flames and tasted the tang of blood on his tongue. He panted and strained against the waves of throbbing heat in his legs.  
It hurt.  
But his knees were bent and he could see he white fabric of his pants.  
Link rested.  
He swore to himself that he would escape wherever he was.  
He promised the empty room that he would complete his mission.

The pain eventual subsided, leaving in its place only a numbing weariness.  
Link nearly shouted for joy.  
He knew his next step was to stand up.  
He put his hands on the ground with his palms facing down. He pushed and lifted his body up, up, up, until he could put all of his weight on his feet. As he shifted his weight over he braced for the pain again. It was a pleasant surprise when it did not come.  
He used his leg muscles to push up, to stand. He went slowly, which cause much more strain on his legs, but they were muscled and strong and a sore body was slight cost for caution.  
His slow pace was a gift in disguise.  
Link's head brushed the ceiling several inches before his legs were straight. Had he stood fast, he would have a terrible headache right then. Link made a quick judgement of the ceiling's height and stood all the way, though hunched over. He looked around for the slight light he had seen before, but he could not spot it. He turned in the direction the light had been and began to walk toward his exit.  
He had been on a table.  
When he stepped forward there was nothing but air to support his feet and he fell. He lay on the ground for a while, panting and shaking and his heart racing from the plunge. He calmed quickly and stood back up.  
He groped forward again and soon came to a wall. A hard wall that was damp and cold and felt like earth. Link smelled it and it smelled of dirt. He waked around the perimeter of his room with his left hand on the wall and his right extended in front of his face. He turned at the corners and counted his steps.  
He was trapped in a chamber without windows or doors, bare but for the stone table in the center exactly as long as he was tall and as high off the ground as Link's waist. The room itself was four paces long and three wide. The ceiling was only slightly shorter than one and one-half of Link's own height. There was no external noise entering, and likely no noise of Link's exiting, either. The level of darkness and quiet could mean only one thing.  
_I am underground_.  
He sat down on the central platform and thought of how to escape his prison.

* * *

Holding the massive numbers of Ganondorf's armies at bay is not an easy task. They are strong and possess weapons our own generals have never seem before in all their years of combat. I am deeply troubled. We are fortunate that one wielder of the Triforce cannot directly overpower the one holding Wisdom, but the common people only know the Sacred Triangles as a children's legend and they are all certain that Hyrule will fall to the evil that pounds our gate. I try to reassure them, but morale plummets against such overwhelming opposition despite my greatest efforts. Until Link returns to the land, neither side can win; that is, unless my own armies refuse to fight... for then I must obey the will of my subjects and surrender to Ganondorf, and all is lost for my beloved people and kingdom. O, Link, where have you vanished to and why are you not present here, defending your home and your countrymen from the enemy you are destined to battle? Return to us, Hero. We need you more now than we ever have before.

~Princess of Hyrule, Her Highness Princess Zelda

* * *

MEMO: TROOPS TO PREPARE FOR FINAL STRIKE AT TWILIGHT. EAT, SLEEP, READY WEAPONRY AND MOUNTS. SUMMON ALL GENERALS AND ADVISORS TO COMMAND TENT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. DIRECT ORDERS, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.  
-HIGH LORD AND SUPREME GENERAL GANONDORF


End file.
